


The Monster at the End of This Book

by Raquelobo321



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Billy Hargrove Being an Asshole, Billy Hargrove Redemption, Bisexual Steve Harrington, Canon-Typical Violence, Gay Billy Hargrove, I Don't Even Know, I Will Go Down With This Ship, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, Neil Hargrove's A+ Parenting, Not Season/Series 03 Compliant, Past Steve Harrington/Nancy Wheeler, Period Typical Attitudes, Post-Season/Series 02, Slow Burn, Steve Harrington Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-23
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-15 14:27:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 19,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28939938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raquelobo321/pseuds/Raquelobo321
Summary: In which Billy sees what’s in the fridge, Steve is trying not to go crazy in his haunted mansion, and maybe they find happiness at the end of the tunnel. Angst, shitty metaphors, and monsters...we got it all in Hawkins, Indiana!
Relationships: Billy Hargrove & Steve Harrington, Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington
Comments: 49
Kudos: 92





	1. Prologue

**The Storm Boy**

  
Billy has been weathering storms his whole life, it feels like.

He’s seven, and his mom is crying on the floor of her closet. Her face is red. He climbs in her lap and hugs her tight. She sings to him, something melancholy. Tears roll down her cheek, streaking her makeup. They fall like raindrops.

He’s nine, and he’s a bit pudgy, with round cheeks that freckle too much, and his dad wants him to play baseball. Real men play sports. They get angry, and they get mad, and they hit things. It’s better if it isn’t a person, maybe. Even though Billy kind of wants to play guitar like that handsome man on their old television.

But here he is, a bat in his hand. His mom cheers for him. He finally hits the ball this time, a small dink, and the other team tags the base before he can get there. Slinking back to the dugout, he sees his dad rolling his eyes. He looks at the ground. Bites his tongue. Looks at the sky. Blue, like his eyes. Like his dad’s.

_Billy stop! What the hell is wrong with you? What did we talk about, huh? You gotta slide! What, are you afraid you’re gonna get hurt? What, did I raise a pussy for a son? Get back here!_  
_That’s right! Run, like you always do!_

He’s surfing. He loves the ocean. It’s beautiful here. His mom watches from the shore, gives him a thumbs up. It’s a big wave. But Billy’s ten years old, he can do it. After, he runs to her, blonde hair a beacon on the shore, so like his own. Shimmering in the sunlight, curly and wild.

_Did you see that?_  
_That was at least seven feet!_

After, she looks at her watch. Billy knows the signal by now. Time to go home. He takes her hand. They walk back together. The sky is gathering dark gray clouds. rain is spitting on his cheek. They step through the door. Together.

\----

Billy’s twelve. And his mom left, and she never looked back.

His lovely mother, who had sung to him when he cried, cheered while he surfed, read him books, kissed his finger when he had fallen off a bike.

She left.

He would watch for her, at first. Sitting on his dilapidated porch, with splintery wood digging into his thighs. He would sit for hours, his eyes glued to the driveway, sticky heat pressing down on him like a heavy wool blanket.

She just needed time. Money? Maybe a plan.

_When are you coming back mom? I hate it here._

A thundercloud brewed over Billy’s house.  
And she never came back.

\----

Dad became Neil.

And Neil became Billy’s wrist, pinned in a vice grip. Neil became Billy’s throat, struggling to breathe with fingers crushing his windpipe. Neil became _that word_ snarled at Billy’s growing hair. Neil became threats, and pain, and anger. Neil became bruises, and cuts, and parts of himself that had to be hidden. He thinks maybe that’s when he stopped being a real person. He thinks maybe he was shaken too hard, too roughly; until he was twisted into something dark, ugly, and rotted.

He locks it all away, along with every time that Neil had given him a pat on the back, a good game son, a nod of approval. Every time his disobedient heart had leapt from his chest, feebly lapping at scraps, desperate and keening for the littlest hints of affection.

His stupid, starved human heart. Always letting him break a little bit more.

Always setting him up for what can never be his.

\----

Billy had noticed himself _noticing_ boys when he was younger. He watched the long, lean, golden bodies of the surfers. The soft curl of hair on the nape of a neck. The way the older boys at the pier licked their ice cream.

He knew it was wrong. He knew he was a freak. A pervert.

He didn’t want to be _that word_. Neil had favorite insults, and that was one of them. He had them for all the wrong sorts, for the black people, for the women in short skirts who strolled the pier while smoking, for the men holding hands with other men on the sidewalk.

So Billy tried for as long as he could stand it. Jesus… he tried. To be the right sort.

Under Neil’s guidance, he got in fights. He fucked girls, made them scream with pleasure. He lifted weights and played basketball. He was damn good at it too. No one could match Billy’s rage, the pure, poisonous violence leeching out of every pore. He relished the bruises, the cuts. These he had won. These, he had given as good as he had got.

And if Billy went underneath the pier every now and then, when his urges got too strong, when he couldn’t send his mind somewhere else while a tight pussy was under him….Well, nobody had to know. He never let the men kiss him. He never wanted to. It didn’t count if he didn’t kiss them. Just needed the perfunctory, animalistic motions. He liked it, a little, when the men were rough with him, used him like he didn’t matter. It was fitting, to be treated like garbage. Like trash.

Neil didn’t know.

Sure, he pulled at Billy’s hair. Flicked his earring. Rolled his eyes at the color of his car. Billy figured it was just his essence. A goddamn loser of a son, a lifetime of disappointment. A failure, collecting interest over time, never paying off his worth.

But Neil had no proof. If he did, Billy would be dead. Billy didn’t particularly like being alive, but he wasn’t sure Neil finally winning was a good alternative.

So, the dance continued. Billy put up posters of girls in bikinis. He slung his arm around bimbos. He pretended he was just a normal teenage boy, a typical typhoon of angst and arrogance. He sucked up attention like he couldn’t get enough.

He orbited Neil like a planet. Stuck in his gravity. Constantly trying not to burn up in his atmosphere.

\----

Billy’s thirteen. And Neil’s pushing a woman towards him. She has red hair. A quiet face. Behind her skirt is a little bright-eyed girl.

_Billy, Meet Susan. Billy, Meet Max. Head up, Billy. Shake their hands, Billy._

They move in. And Neil gives Max an allowance every week. He introduces her as his daughter. He firmly holds Susan’s waist when they go on dates. He brags to anyone who will listen about how smart Max is, how Susan did a great job raising her. Each compliment or kind touch he bestows upon them makes Billy feel like he’s on fire. Like Neil’s saying what he’s always known,

_Look at what you never earned, Son._  
_Look at how I could never love you._

Billy buzzes, like the air before it rains. He knows this won’t last. No one besides Billy has lasted with Neil.

_Be a good brother Billy. Go get milk for Susan. Take Max to the Boardwalk, Billy._  
_Take your sister, Billy. Don’t let her get into any trouble, I know that’s fucking hard for you, boy._

  
_Be RESPECTFUL, Billy._  
_When will this lesson finally sink in? Are you crying? Stop it, or I’ll give you something to cry about._

Susan and Max go shopping. When they come back, Billy has a black eye.  
The dance continues.

_He went out and got in a fight like a goddamn idiot. He’s useless Susan._  
_I try to teach him to be a man, but he fucks it up at every turn. I don’t know what I did wrong. Even his whore mother didn’t want him. But he’s gonna take his sister to the arcade now, isn’t he—_  
_No—its okay Neil, really I—_  
_\---Aren’t you, Billy?_

Billy burns.

\----

Much to his dismay, Billy doesn’t really think Max is so bad. When Neil says “Maxine” She tells Neil “It’s Max.”

Billy approves of this.  
Every small act of subterfuge, every minute defiance he gives: his car, his hair, his earring, his attitude? They both know Neil could easily take them all away.

But Max? Something in her is fucking unbreakable. She looks at the world with strong blue eyes. Very different from Neil’s. From his own.

They eat ice cream together on the boardwalk. She shows him her skateboard. Madmax, he calls her. They’re desperate to escape the house, where Neil has stopped treating Susan like a porcelain doll, and yells permeate the air. Too little money, too many things to pay for. Susan’s clingy ex. They’re just two miserable kids, running away from the heat.

Max isn’t the _worst._ She laughs at some of Billy’s dirty jokes, and she watches him surf sometimes. She scowls at Neil when he turns away from her. She refuses the girly dresses her stepdad buys her, and doesn’t snitch on him for buying pot.

Sure, it isn’t fair the way Billy has to take everything Neil dishes out. But he doesn’t want it to happen to Max, he recognizes that. She’s just a kid.

When some perv whistles at Max one day, Billy punches him in the face. Max gets him an ice cream. Strawberry, his favorite.  
_What a loser,_ she says. _Thanks. You’re still an asshole._  
He laughs.  
_You coming, twerp?_  
They walk towards the arcade, drawn to the soft neon lights like moths to a lamp.  
She isn’t his sister. But she’s someone.  
Finally, finally.  
Someone to weather the storms with.

\----

Billy’s sixteen, and his dad tells the family they’re moving.

A fresh start, Neil says. Neil tells some people he got a promotion. He tells Susan they’re moving away from her ex, that junkie that won’t stop calling. He tells Billy that Max saw him. Max _saw him_. And after he gives Billy a beating that leaves him in bed for two days, he gives him a box.

When he threw the first punch, Billy had looked him in the eyes. He drank in Neil’s disappointment, his contempt. He collected the pain like presents.  
He thought he knew what prison was, but now his world feels even smaller.

_Put your shit in here boy._  
_You’re gonna act right in this new town. I’ve given you too much freedom, and California is full of the wrong types of people. I didn’t raise you to be some fairy. This is going to be a new chance for you. And you’re not going to embarrass me. When will you learn respect, and responsibility?_  
_When will you learn to finally be a **man** , Billy?_  
_When?_

\-----

Hawkins, Indiana is a fucking shit hole.

Billy’s life had never been, like, a dream or anything. But now, there’s no ocean to drown in. No laughing with Max while she skateboards. No golden warmth on his skin. No one interesting to split a blunt with, no _wrong kind of people_. No air to breathe. No refuge from Neil’s fucking bullshit.

And God he fucking hates it. The ugly, pale people, staring at him. The way Neil and Max and Susan fit perfectly into the shitty little house, a shitty little family, hiding behind shitty little shutters. They move in without incident, Neil smiling as they unload the car, waving at the neighbors.

Look at that nice new family.

Max won’t look at him. He hates her too. Hates the way he feels when he looks her in the eyes. How she sold him out to Neil, after pretending to be on his side.

He drops his cigarette and steps on it to put it out. He walks up the drive.  
Billy stands outside looking in. Like always.

\----

He just has to finish junior year. And then senior.

And then he’s fucking free, away from Neil’s indominable anger, the poisonous clouds he casts over Billy’s life. He can picture the Camaro, flying away from it all. Him inside. Middle finger out the window, a final fuck you to Neil’s impossible rules, and his iron fists, and a town whose woods are already way too eerie.

\----

Hawkins High is so goddamn easy its laughable. He read Of Mice and Men his freshman year. He has good grades, always has had, to avoid conflict with Neil, but it doesn’t matter.

_I’ll be damned if you make anything of yourself. You ruin everything you touch; you know that?_

It’s like taking candy from a baby, climbing the social ladder. Billy knows he’s attractive. He walks like he has nothing to lose, and his attitude matches. He throws smiles at the right people; he unbuttons his shirt and revs his engine. Sycophants like Tommy are a dime a dozen. Those idiots are drawn to him like bees to honey. At least Tommy has good weed.

The girls eat him up. Even more than California because no one else here seems to have a fucking pulse. He has a new bitch on his lap every week. And when he’s fucking them, his mind can go wherever it wants. No one is any wiser.

He’s incredible on the basketball court compared to these country bumpkins, he’s so quick and confident no one can touch him, no one can stop him.

They don’t card him at the liquor store.  
and he makes merry with his three favorite men: Jack, Jim, and Jose.  
So that’s his life now. Billy drinks. And Billy smokes. And he fucks around with the stupid ass girls. He drinks. He smokes. And he gets in a fight or two.  
He drinks. He smokes. He suffocates.

It’s cold here, but Billy is lightning. He runs hot.

\----

Billy sees Steve Harrington the first week they move to town. And it feels like a punch in the gut.

Because Steve is…Steve is _so…put-together._ The expensive sunglasses, the preppy fucking outfit, the soft, soft hair. He drives a Beemer. He puts his arm around some boring fucking girl and kisses her cheek like he loves her. Exudes money, and a future complete with a nice house and two and half kids. Probably looks down on the whole town with that fucking nose—those crisp new jeans, expensive polo—

Billy’s happy at first that Steve has lost favor in the high school court. Gotten himself pussywhipped, by his equally snooty looking chick. _Nancy._ Billy sits right down on the proverbial throne. No ifs, ands, or buts—

But.  
But.  
He won’t even **look** at Billy.

On Halloween, Billy becomes the resident Keg King, beats this King Steve’s record. And Tina’s stupid party feels a lot less stupid with Tommy leading him over, ready to rub Billy in his ex-friend’s face. Billy has beer running down his chest, he’s ripped, picture of machismo. He knows he looks dangerous in all the best ways. He’s smiling all toothy, ready for his introduction. Licks his lips. Ready to _make friends_. His eyes on the prize, he pushes through the crowd.

And Steve? Barely looks at him.

Billy is livid. Billy is a lot of things, most of them bad, but he knows he isn’t—isn’t some wallflower. He isn’t easy to just _ignore._

Well shit. Fine. Friendship didn’t work.

So, Billy makes it his agenda to get Steve to look at him. He goads him, pushes him, bullies him. And Steve just—doesn’t react. Billy is so far off his radar, he’s so below worthy, that King Steve just acts like he’s a fly or some shit. Doesn’t even deign him a rival. And he shouldn’t give two fucks. He should not care about some has-been who can’t even plant his feet.

But his mind betrays him, as minds are apt to do. Flashes pictures of skin dragging on skin, tantalizing him with things he can never have. Steve’s mouth, the way he looks in the showers after practice. They slide through his brain at night, shame curling deep in his gut as he moves his hand under the covers.

Maybe he’ll mouth off to Neil in the morning, get a cuff to the head as penance for his sins.


	2. Chapter 2

**The Night the Lights Went Out in Hawkins**  
  


Billy’s  getting ready. 

He’s going to Indianapolis. It’s been so long. So long, and he’s dying to get out. Out of Hawkins, out of Neil’s grip, go to a seedy bar and do what he’s been needing. He looks good. Music pounds in his ears.

And then, 

_ Open the door. Right now— _

His heart hammers. Fear curls through his chest.

\-----

He just needed one fucking night. One fucking night, where he gets to be someone who isn’t Billy Hargrove, where he’s just a face in a sea of faces, where neon lights glow on his skin and he can find someone to make him feel human. Feel hands on him that want him, even in the most lowdown, skeevy way. Where the silent woods don’t close him in. 

Kinda—kinda like that chick  Cinderella  going to a ball,  in the book his mom used to read him.  The whole idea was alluring;  having a life filled  to the brim  with  shit and fatigue and misery and finally, at long last, finding magic.  Leaving it behind for some greater freedom. 

So he  hid it under his mattress. Sometimes he looked at the pictures while his parents were fighting. 

After his mom left, he ripped it up and burned the pieces.

Happily ever  afters don’t happen to  the monsters at the end of the book. And Billy probably wouldn’t look that nice in glass slippers, anyway.

\----

_ She’s not my sister!  _

He’s pinned against the wall before he can remind himself to cool it with the attitude.

Susan turns her head away. Fury hides beneath Billy’s ribs, mixing with shame. His cheek smarts. His eyes tear up against his will, like they do every time, as if he’s still the same eight-year-old pussy Neil first gave a lesson to. Embarrassment claws his insides to shreds. He wants to force Susan to look at him. To look him in the eyes and see that she believes he deserves what he’s getting. 

See Neil’s version of Billy reflected in another pair of eyes.

\---

Billy’s seventeen.

He’s  probably stronger than Neil, now. 

Sure, Neil’s  ex military. He’s tough.  But, Billy lifts weights. Tries to put on mass like armor.  Has a smart mouth, hard  exterior. Still they both know he’ll never fight back. Not ever. Because every time, every hit,  it just reduces him to  that crying little boy.  Shame too big for his body.

_ He’s going to go find his sister, _

_ Aren’t you, Billy? _

Billy  blows away in his  Camaro. Rips through Hawkins like a tornado. He’s ready to flatten anything in his path.

Max,  Lucas, 

the whole  fucking world. 

When  Billy pays , he makes sure everyone else does too. He learned a long time ago it was the only way to even the score.

\----

He pities her,  that  Mrs. Wheeler. Trapped in a  stale marriage, beautiful and  lonely, foaming at the bit for the first guy who pays her attention. It’s too easy to flirt his way in, to ooze charm  from every pore.  This small town, it breaks people down. Forces them into boxes. 

He has little  sympathy to spare, though. 

Billy’s been in one his whole life.

\----

It comes back to Billy in bits.

Arriving at the weird ass Byers house. 

Steve  fucking Harrington stepping out. Like one of Billy’s  secret  dreams, except everything is wrong. Because Steve doesn’t want to touch him, and Maxine got him in trouble,  she  doesn’t care what happens to Billy, and his neck is still tight and sore from where Neil grabbed it.

He lights a cigarette. He drinks in all of Steve, commits hi s glare to memory. Seals it up. Keeps it for later.

He can’t stop what leaves his mouth, but he’s  a master at keeping his tone sarcastic, careful to overplay his hand so no one can detect what’s underneath.

_ Am I dreaming? Or is that you, Harrington?  _

Billy’s patience has never been great. But right then?  It’s razor fucking thin, stretching all night like an elastic band. Seeing Steve’s big eyes, his hard expression. The way he pokes  at him—

_ —Yeah it’s me, don’t cream your pants  _

Billy’s taken aback for a second. His footing is uneven. There’s no way—

But Steve is just frowning. Uneasy. On edge. He’s distracted. He doesn’t have time for Billy. 

Billy’s had enough.  He’s going to make time.

He sees Max, and Lucas,  the other dweebs. And he’s angry.  So fucking angry.  Somethings inside of him,  scratching its way to the surface. All these years, all  his tiptoeing—does Max not understand, not understand what’s at stake?  What Neil will do? His  fucking rants, about those people, the  wrong people— …does she think it’s a joke? Does she not realize what will happen if they don’t pretend to play by the rules?

He’s warned her so many times. He’s bled so. Many. Times.  Every hit, every kick, and Max just takes it for granted. Takes safety for granted.  No, even worse, she tells Neil about Billy, lets him  take the fall.

He sees red.

\--

He’s been learning this all his life, the ways a person can be taken apart.

All the ways a person  has to build themselves back together, afterward. 

And when  Steve finally punches him? It’s glorious. Billy’s a maniac, he’s smiling, laughing out loud . King Steve, with fury in his eyes. Looking at Billy. All of it, for Billy. This electric tension that’s been growing between them,

It’s too much.  It’s all led to this.

Anger was always an easier feeling than anything else. To let it fill him. To feel its brittle claws, the  sharp heat  boiling him up.  Like wildfire, raging and uncontrolled, every punch—every hit,  just a reflection of what he had collected, of what he had been given. 

He’s outside himself. He lets the anger take hold, allows himself to finally let it out.  Every bruise, every stolen thought. He’s boiling over.

There’s blood,  Steve’s’ blood. Their blood, mixing on the floor. On  Billy’s knuckles.  The eye of the storm has arrived. The winds are blowing. People are screaming.

\---

Max stabs something in his neck

He vaguely thinks, 

I might be losing  it

There’s a bat between his legs. 

Max, staring down at him,  like she’s repulsed. Her voice, loud and clear.  One more person, standing over Billy, laying down the law.

And then, mercifully,

There is black.

\----------

Billy’s seventeen. 

He’s in Hawkins, Indiana.  His dad is  a bully named  Neil, his mom is gone. His Not-Sister Max hates him.

He dreams of Steve.  He’s pretty.  Did he kill him? He feels a little sick thinking about the way his fists felt against his skin.

Billy’s seventeen.

Time moves slowly, stretches, and compresses like an accordion. Then snaps into place, the way it has to. 

Billy wakes.

He’s on a strange floor. His neck is sore. There’s blood on his knuckles, but he doesn’t know if it’s his own. Weird drawings on the wall. He needs ice. He limps towards the fridge, desperate for relief.

Billy’s seventeen—

And his whole life has been a storm. But he still isn’t prepared for what’s in the fridge.

\-----

He stares.

Some sort of grotesque creature, clearly dead, stares back.

He rubs his eyes.

_ What the fuck, _

_— oh fuck who are you_

A woman with wild eyes  appears behind him. She  holds her arms up like  she’s calming a  rabid animal. Billy bristles because, CLEARLY, whatever is in the fridge is way more of a threat than he is right now, regardless of last night, but the woman just reaches for his arm,  and says, kindly, when he flinches,

_ You’re Max’s brother, aren’t you? It’s okay.  Please, just  stay for a minute. I can explain this. _

For some reason,  maybe because he has nowhere else to go, maybe because someone hasn’t touched him so softly in so long—her fingers light on his skin, like a moth landing on a leaf—

Or maybe because he’s clearly been dropped in to some sort of parallel universe where aliens exist, and she looks at him almost like a mother—

He stays.

\---

The chief of police walks through the door while  Billy’s sipping water and debating whether he’s dead and this is hell (because really, it could be worse) and Call Me Joyce, Dear, is hovering around him. 

Billy stiffens. Recalls last night. Oh god. Max. Steve.

Neil. His blood runs cold.  He’s ready to run, and his face must betray something because,

_It’s okay,_ Call Me Joyce, Dear, says.

The police chief eyes  Billy. Sighs. 

_ What are we gonna do about you,  _ _kid_.

And honestly, Billy thought it was a pretty good question.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okayyyy now we end season 2 and can move on with the healing, right?


	3. Chapter 3

**One Horribly Haunted Harrington**

Hawkins may have returned to whatever qualifies as normal, but Steve still feels off-kilter. Lost. And if he’s honest he might have been feeling that way for a while now, even before the world tilted upside down and right side up again. He spends most of his time alone, with no more Nancy to turn to. Even before Nancy, he had Tommy and Carol—can hardly remember a time where he didn’t have Tommy’s grin to turn to, or Carol’s sharp wit to bask in.

The loneliness sneaks in slowly at first. In that sheepish way that belongs to stray animals; careful not to alert you to its presence lest you  chase it away. 

Before long, its lurking behind every corner, just out of reach. Creeping along unseen, the empty chill of it seeping all the way down to his bones.

Steve doesn’t  ever  sleep well. 

He wakes up to all of his lamps, the ones he turns on every night, and he thinks about the ghostly pool beyond his window.  He imagines the dark woods beyond. On the worst nights, he imagines sitting on the water’s edge. He stares into the bottom.  Barb, rotting away in the depths,  glares up at him.  _ You killed me_, she tells him.  _ I’m sorry_, he tries to whisper but his throat is  closing.

She reaches out to pull him in, fingers slimy,  bones exposed. 

He wakes up  when he hits the water.

He’s not sure when his house became haunted. Maybe it was after the first time his parents said _we ’re going to Paris. We’ll call soon. There’s money on the counter._ Maybe it was when Nancy stopped filling his bed, or when monsters first moved in the trees. Maybe it’s always been a mausoleum, a place to collect all the Harrington’s expensive treasures. He wanders the empty hallways, every light turned on. He keeps his nail bat by his side. He listens for sound, and he walks through each room in a stupor, silence drowning him, pulling him under. 

Barb isn’t the only ghost here. Steve just happens to be a living one.

\-----

The kids save Steve in those next few weeks.  By  asking for him, or his car, or his big TV. 

A week after that night,  Dustin gives him a walkie talkie. He laughs a little when Dustin hands it to him, an earnest look in the kid’s eyes. 

_ What’s this for_, Steve asks

 _For when we need you_, Dustin says. In a way like its obvious. Like he’ll want to call Steve in everyday life, not just because the world is ending and options are limited.

_ We voted, dude. You’re an honorary member of the party. Mike wasn’t sure but I told him about your basement. _

And  Steve rolls his eyes, laughs, says  _ whatever_. Ruffles  Dustin’s hair. 

Doesn’t  tell anyone how  he cries when he goes home. And immediately puts the walkie under his  pillow.

_For when we need you_ , Dustin had said. Like it wasn’t a question. Like it was simple. 

\-----

It would be easy for Steve to think  he just misses the _before_. 

But he knows it’s a cop out. Knows that for better or worse, loving Nancy has changed him.  It’s  all  too easy to remember the way she would brush his hair out of his face on lazy mornings, and smile like he meant something. Too easy to recall how it felt  like he was  _ worthy_.  They’d faced hell, they’d won, and he’d waltzed  away with the girl on his arm.

The problem was the  music didn’t play, the credits didn’t roll, and the  story  wasn’t finished.

In movies they  never  showed the  ugly, barren  _ after_. 

How Barb’s parents  were trapped  in limbo, with a daughter neither dead nor alive.  The way Will flinched when someone touched him. The nightmares that  shook half of the party.  Nancy’s unshakable grief for a friend she’d never get back. 

And then  the metaphorical  shit had  to go and  hit the  metaphorical  fan, again.

\----

Steve had loved her so much, so hard, but in the end it wasn’t enough.  His heart had always been  a greedy thing, all too ready to live outside of his body. Too eager to attach itself to someone else. 

He couldn’t even hate her for it. Can see why Nancy had walked away with Jonathan.

It was a pattern of sorts. Steve’s whole life had been people leaving him behind.  The harder someone tried to pull away, the more he tried to suffocate them, with gifts, affection, money,

To make it so they loved him back. To prove that he had value.

He sees himself for what he is, now. 

A stupid, vapid rich boy, who’s no longer able to wash away the unmistakable stench of _bullshit_.

\-----

Steve sees Billy Hargrove at the  Snow Ball when he drops Dustin off. Sees Max get out of the Camaro , all dolled up, running toward Lucas. He sees Nancy inside, and his heart still  skips a little for her, even though it stings, too. 

Billy Hargrove  is staring at Steve. Quickly looks away when Steve meets his eyes. Tosses a cigarette butt out the window.  Peels out and drives away.

Steve’s face feels hot despite being long healed, like there’s phantom bruises on his skin.

He was ready to glare, ready to trade insults, hell, ready to defend himself if need be. But he’s confused, left with a strange sense of loss at the departure. Like his foot landed wrong, and he no longer knows where to tread. He couldn’t read Billy’s face. 

Then, he feels a hot flash of  indignance  because if anyone should be running away, it should be Steve, obviously, since  he’s the one who was almost killed by some psycho guy while _babysitting—_

Whatever. Dudes got issues. It’s not  Steve’s problem,  he’s already got _plenty_.

\----

_ STEVE _

_ STEVEEEE _

_ Wake up! _

_ WE HAVE AN EMERGENCYYYYYY _

Steve,  on the verge of rolling his eyes, because its 9am on a Saturday, dammit, jolts awake. He grabs for his bat.

_ Dustin? _

_ What’s wrong? Where are you?  _

_ Dude,  Dustin you idiot he thinks its something to do with—_

_Oh —oh no not that kind of emergency  Steve ._

A garbled laugh.  _Haha sorry. _

Steve sits down. Lets go of the bat. Breathes through his nose, all pissy.  He loves these kids, he reminds himself. He doesn’t want to throw the walkie through the window, he’s pretty sure.

_ Max needs a ride to the arcade, someone beat her record for Dig Dug, and she has to get it back, but Billy  said no, and her mom is out, and she doesn’t have a bike— _

_ And it would mean a lot to her, please, Steve — _ it’s  Lucas this time. 

Steve breathes out. Lays back on the pillow.  He’s awake now anyway, and what does he have to do the rest of the day? Plus, he likes being needed, even in just menial ways. Makes him happy, to help the brats.

_ Dustin, from now on, emergency means EMERGENCY, _

_ But I’ll get her. Do you need a ride too? _

Dustin cheers. Steve smiles, without meaning to.

Dustin’s jabbering away, messing with Steve’s radio, when they pull up outside Max’s house. The blue  Camaro leers at Steve from where it sits in the driveway. Steve wants to send  Dustin up, tell him to get Max, but—well, he’s a lot of things, people leave him, and he loses fights, but he isn’t a coward. 

Dustin seems to read his mind, puffs out his chest and says  _ I’ll be your backup,  _

But Steve just shakes his head and gets out. He’ll be damned if Max is going to be bullied out of fun on his watch. Plus, she saved his ass, so, it feels fair. 

Max runs out of the door,  _ Hey Steve_, she bellows, and races for the Beemer, red hair whipping behind her. And  Steve breathes out a sigh of relief he didn’t realize he was holding, and turns around to step off the porch and follow her, when a voice says,

_ Harrington. Not gonna say hi to little old me?  _

Steve whirls around. Billy’s cocky tone making him want to spit, like a cat raising its hackles. 

_ Say hi to the psycho who tried to kill me? Do I look insane to you? _

_ A little_ _,_ Billy starts,  hands  crossed on his chest in front of him.

But  Steve is turning away, ready to leave, done with this, fed up with whatever game Billy wants  to play  that always leaves Steve on the ground,  hurting.

_ I mean,  you’d have to be, to be chasing goddamn monsters  in the woods around here, and storing them in people’s fridges— _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Could I really do a Steve POV without introducing his angst idk


	4. Chapter 4

** Is This What a Truce Feels Like? **

  
Steve’s on him in a flash,  hand to his mouth, eyes wide.

_How do you know—you know what, I don’t care right now, just SHUT UP_, he’s hissing, 

And he’s looking around all fucking crazy, just enough fright in his eyes that something in Billy’s stomach drops, because he hasn’t really and truly **believed** that crazy fucking story the chief and Joyce had said. Like yeah, he saw the thing in the fridge, but they could have been pulling his leg, lying to him, thinking they got him, laughing because surely, surely no one would trust a truth like THAT to that no good, white trash, Hargrove boy…

But now, he knows it is, knows that  every word of that crazy shit is real,  and Steve’s a part of it, and Max is a part of it—and  he’s kind of a part of it, although, admittedly more in a villain capacity, but still.

And if he’s surprised at the sudden contact with  Steve’s hand, well, he’s got Steve’s attention now, and  something deep inside of Billy positively purrs.

But Steve’s big eyes are looking at him with pure  revulsion, and he drops his hand with a quickness once he sees Billy has shut up. Wipes his  fingers on his expensive jacket, like he can’t bear the contact.

It’s okay. Billy has a plan. And he has a bargaining chip, so he uses it. 

_I needed some goddamn  ice. _

_  
I won’t say anything, pretty boy,_ Billy promises,  _if you’ll meet me at the Quarry.  I want to hear everything_, he adds,  with authority. Because, maybe he knows a lot from Hopper, but he wants to hear it from Steve.  For confirmation of the story he’s been sitting on for weeks, but also because  he wants what he’s always wanted since he came to this shitstain of a town, attention from the King. And now, he can get it. He senses it. He can tell Steve wants to say no, glances at the kids,  who are staring up at them, but  Steve sighs. Weighs his options.

When he tells Billy  _okay, we can meet at the quarry after I bring them home, _

_ but  I’m bringing that bat  M _ _ax used_ —

The  oily smile drips off of  Billy’s face at the reminder. He scowls. 

But, all in all,  as he watches Steve walk back to his car and pull away,  he counts it as a win.

Billy is seventeen, and he’s mostly an asshole, and he hates almost everything about Hawkins.

But  Steve is  _interesting_ , and Neil is gone for the weekend,  and he thinks  talking about monsters with a boy he  ~~almost killed~~ beat up  is probably better than anything else he could get up to.

\---

He thinks back to Joyce and Hopper’s faces when they talked to him. How they seemed confused, exchanging concerned looks at how he barely reacted when they told him about  the thing in the fridge.

Billy just wasn’t _that_ surprised. Like yeah, the story was insane.  But Hawkins had a weirdo creepy vibe to it,  and the monsters, well.  It made a little sense, to him, that  somewhere in the world  there were monsters that had ugly faces, and giant fucking teeth, and also wanted to kill you. 

After all, he’d grown up with Neil, and Neil didn’t look so scary. When people met Neil, they shook his hand. They told him  _thanks for your service_ ,  while glancing at his medals.  They told him he had  _such a nice family_ , _we need more strong father figures like you_ , while beaming at Susan and Max. 

At least these  fucking  things had the decency to look  like  monsters.  At least they were honest about  being made of poison.

\---

When  Steve pulls up to the quarry,  he doesn’t know what to expect. He doesn’t like Billy, doesn’t trust him, but he has to find out what he knows, right? See if he’s  just fucking with  Steve, pushing on him in all the ways he can, like he has since he arrived.

He doesn’t know what to expect, so he brings his bat. Leaves it in the trunk, fingers itching for it’s reassuring weight. And he stands there, weight shifting, one leg to another. 

Billy moves out of the darkness  shrouding the Camaro. Cigarette in his hand.

_W ant one?_ Billy offers

Steve looks at him. Sighs.

 _No_ _,_ he says,  _I’m trying to quit._ _I have my bat, by the way._

_ Need a bat to take me, Harrington? _

_Well , _ Steve says, indignation blooming,

_ You needed a plate. _

And  Billy laughs, then stops himself, and kind of looks surprised, like he didn’t mean to.

Like he let something slip he shouldn’t have.

Then Billy’s looking in the distance.

Looking at Steve.

_ So ta_ _lk_.  He says.

And then, gruffly, while eyeing the ground, as if an afterthought, _I’ m sorry_

Billy looks away again,  glaring at something Steve can’t see.

And  Steve? Well it’s a pretty shitty apology. He just came here to get intel for the party, to see if there was a threat,  if he needed to talk to Hopper. He didn’t come here to listen to a crazy boy say he’s sorry for making mince of his face, when he probably doesn’t even mean it.

But  Steve’s only friends are fourteen,  and  his ex-girlfriend is now dating  someone else. A nice boy.

Steve’s tired of keeping this secret,  with no one to share his nightmares with. Tired of the _bullshit._   
  
And, as an insidious voice in the back of Steve’s mind reminds him: who does Billy have to tell? Who would possibly believe him if he did?

He turns back to Billy. He doesn’t say  _its okay, I forgive you,_ because its not, and he doesn’t.

But he tells Billy everything. And Billy just smokes. And looks at him. And when  Steve is done, he goes to  the Camaro and opens the door.

It makes  Steve feels like he’s drowning again, because Billy means nothing to him, he’s just  some asshole who beat him up, a bully, but he’s still walking away from Steve, still leaving him alone to smother under the weight of  teeth, and claws, and  rotting  girls. 

But Billy comes back. 

Hands Steve a bottle of Jack Daniels. 

_Well, Harrington_ , he starts,  _that’s pretty fucked up. But a lot of things are, aren’t they?_

A sidelong glance. _Know what would be nice right now?_

And Steve wants to laugh, the ridiculousness of it all, that he’s sitting here looking into the quarry with  Billy Hargrove, talking about  the things that go bump in the night and drinking together. 

_ No, what, man _

_Some weed_ _,_ Billy says.

And he  does his patented shark-grin, pulls a  little  bag out of his pocket.

And it’s still all so _ridiculous_ , but even before Steve takes the first hit, he swears he feels lighter. 

The woods stare at  them, and  they stare right back.

\----

When Steve pulls into school on Monday, there’s an empty spot next to the Camaro.  Billy is leaning against the side, glaring at anyone who threatens to fill it. He sees  Steve, and  grins, another one of his unsettling leers, and nods when Steve parks and gets out. 

Steve just looks at him. 

_We’re gonna be late, amigo,_ Billy says, like this is what they always do. Like this is normal, and he’s turning to head inside.

\----

From the outside, it doesn’t make sense.

Steve is aware that now he and Billy, they’re—well they aren’t _friends_ exactly—but Billy  claimed the seat behind Steve in English now,  (Apparently he’s ahead a year?  which, what the fuck?), and he sometimes offers Steve a cigarette,  sometimes joins Steve in the library for lunch,  both of them wordlessly working on school shit. 

And  Steve knows its weird. Sees Nancy and Jonathan look at him, questioningly, when Billy  gives a two-finger saluteto Steve in the hallway. They  try  at first  to softly ask him if he’s  feeling alright, _you know you can talk to us, Steve,_ and then  later,  Nancy corners him in the hallway, asks him pointedly if he _feels like_ _ getting his face busted again, or maybe a broken bone this time_,  her doe eyes exasperated, like he’s so stupid he can’t figure out anything on his own, unless someone spells it out for him. 

And it irks Steve, because yeah, he knows how it looks, alright? He can’t explain it really, except that maybe he can, because  it feels good to have  _someone_ his age that  _knows._ Who isn’t his ex, or her new boyfriend. 

Ideally, sure, it wouldn’t be the guy who’s been antagonizing him for months.  Who probably gave him a  concussion? But here’s the thing—

Billy had beckoned Steve over to his trunk  a week after they met in the quarry, where he  had a sleek crowbar. He  picked it up, grimly, saying  _I figured I needed something, cause , you know, if something happened to Max my dad would be fucking pissed._

And Billy had turned up, at Steve’s house a few days ago, with _I just thought you could use some company , you know, since you don’t have friends anymore_ _,_ while he swaggered in from Steve’s porch, his rudeness somewhat undercut by the way he thrust a six pack to Steve’s chest. He had made himself comfortable on the leather couch, and whistled at the high ceilings. _King Steve_ , he said, smiling. _I bet your dad has some nice whiskey,_

And. Back  when he had told Billy, in the quarry, he hadn’t called Steve  stupid.  Or a crazy person, the way he pictures that conversation going with any adult he knows.  Hadn’t interrupted,  or laughed. Had stayed solemn all the way through. 

So  Billy’s an _asshole._ And  Steve wouldn’t say they’re friends. 

But he also keeps a weapon in his car, _to kick some monster ass, _and gave Steve the right notes for English, with minimal allusions to Steve’s lack of academic prowess. 

Maybe some things just defy logic. Maybe it’s just that having a horrible, shared secret has a way of forcing people together, enmeshed in a reality no one else can see. 

Yeah.  Steve totally gets why it’s _strange_ to  put up with the guy who literally beat his ass. He’s confused too.

But, in Hawkins,  he figures,  far  stranger things have happened before. 

\----

They’re at the quarry again, their designated meeting spot?, staring at the woods, and definitely not at each other. Drinking the good stuff Steve’s dad left behind.

_ You have to apologize, you know,  _

A pregnant pause,

_To you? I ain’t saying it again Harrington, _and it’s said with a  growl, eyes suddenly feral

 _No_ ,  Steve says calmly.  _To the kids. To  Lucas._

 _I’ ve been leaving the nerds alone, _Billy says gruffly, eyes focused on the water below.

Steve’s eyes flash. He feels like he’s on a precipice, afraid to look down,

_ That’s not good enough. I don’t care about me, Billy, otherwise I wouldn’t be talking to you, but I care about them.  _

_They’re kids. And I know you were worried about finding Max, but  you were wrong for what you did._

Both boys are eyeing each other now, and Steve feels tense, but he stands firm, doesn’t break contact, feels something important pass between them,

Billy  breathes through his nose.

 _Okay._ He says.

_ I will.  _

_ Good._

Then, 

_I don’t hate the kid cause he’s black, by the way. We had a lot of those in Cali. Some of my friends even—_ _I just knew my dad would be mad. He’s …like that. _It comes out petulant, childlike. Like Billy needs absolution. But it isn’t Steve’s to give.

_I’d like to believe you, Hargrove. But you have to prove it._

Afterwards, they sit in silence, allowing Hawkins’ peculiar ice-cold darkness to swallow them whole.


	5. Chapter 5

**The Kids Aren’t Alright**

  
Billy was wrong about Steve Harrington. 

He thought he had him figured out, back  when he first saw him. Rich boy,  real  pretty,  buying  up  everyone’s adoration without ever having to earn anything.

And then he thought  maybe  he had overestimated him,  placed too much weight on a boy  who lived  without fire. Because  he wasn’t a great basketball player.  He didn’t show up to many parties, looking for admirers. In fact, he was such a pussy that his girl had ran off, and now he didn’t have attention from anyone.  
  
Well, besides Billy.

He’d thought he would push him, and Steve would push back,  and they would play tug-of-war, trading insults and slutty girls,  just like every high school power struggle since the dawn of time.

But Steve was unknowable, so far.

The guy didn’t care about basketball, or school, or Tommy Hagan, or who could hold a keg stand the longest. From stories, Billy could tell he had, once. But that Steve was as faraway now as California,  and maybe Billy would have been sad he had never met him, except. 

Except.

He cared about those children, Billy could tell. Like some sort of weird, teenage mother hen. And he still  cared about stupid  fucking  Nancy Wheeler, who clearly had no taste based on her new boyfriend (because who in their right mind would swap out Harrington for creepy  Old Byers?). Billy saw the way Steve’s eyes got wistful when he saw her, when she talked to him in the hallway.  Once Billy had asked  _ what’s that bitch want, _and Steve had whipped around and said, real prissy,  _ don’t talk about her that way_, which was weird because life-altering secrets or not, she had cheated on him like a _whore._

Steve was nothing like what Billy had imagined. Here was a boy who fought monsters, and took beatings for some stupid kids, and let his bully show up to his mansion no questions asked, and had even disappeared into a closet and came back with a box of band-aids, had wordlessly tossed them to Billy, after Billy’s eyebrow cut had opened and started bleeding one night.

The most confusing thing was that against all odds, he didn’t seem to _hate_ Billy.

Harrington had said _you were wrong for what you did._

While staring furiously.  Like he wasn’t scared of  him, despite knowing firsthand what he was capable of. 

_But you have to prove it_ , he’d followed up.

Like he thought  maybe  Billy could. 

\-----

And so.  Billy liked Steve.  Like, as a person. 

And that was more than he had bargained for. Sure, he’d  thought  the  guy  was  attractive,  but that was an old feeling, a familiar one, that he hated, but knew how to deal with.

Billy could count on one hand the amount of people he had considered friends in his life. Almost every person he had ever surrounded himself with had been a relationship based on what they could give him. He’d had _friends_ in Cali, guys that he could get alcohol from, or weed. They could shoot hoops together, or party. He had girls who lavished him with attention. He had those men under the pier, who could give him what he needed without ever knowing their names. 

It scared him, this fragile thing that was blooming before him. For once, he found himself wishing he was the type to be careful. The type to hold things without crushing them between his fingers. 

\---

When Billy offered to take Max to the arcade that Saturday she  had  looked at him like he had two heads.  She frowned, staring at him, like she was trying to see inside of his brain. It pissed him off, and he wanted to take it back.

_ Fuck it, never mind._

_ No I want to go…_

_thanks? _ Almost like a question

Billy grunted.

_ Be ready in ten minutes.  _

_ And  I’m not picking the other  freaks up, either. _

\-----

Billy doesn’t like to say _sorry._ Obviously, apologies don’t  really _mesh _ with his persona.  And maybe he didn’t mind them, once. But Neil  had spent so long forcing them out  of him  with  a well-placed hand on his shoulder, an iron clamp that threatened  _ more_ _,_

They always sounded hollow, now. 

Always reminded him of every time he’d been pummeled until the words were wrung from his tongue, heavy and dripping, against his will.

So he didn’t relish this. In fact, at this moment, he can’t think of a worse way to spend his time. Doesn’t want to talk to these  fucking  kids, who had probably loved seeing him on the floor, spiked bat near his balls. Gleeful at  seeing the villain felled by his small and furious sister, as Goliath  had lain before David so many centuries ago. 

But Steve had said _That’s not good enough_

And he tried not to focus on why that mattered so much .

\---

When he had gotten out of the Camaro Max’s gaze had hardened. And that stung, the way she didn’t fear him. The way she assumed he was going to be _bad._ But worst of all, the way she had every reason to believe it.

Contempt for Max spiked up uncomfortably inside of him. In California they hadn’t been enemies. They’d both been kids there.  On the same side,  members of  the same damn _team._  


Yes, he’d bullied her, and threatened her here, but she’d hurt him first. She drew first blood. She’d stolen California from him. As surely as a punch to the ribs, she’d felled him in one blow. Every time she disobeyed in Hawkins; there was the hammer poised to fall on Billy. What she knew about him, and what she’d used as a weapon roiled in his mind every time he looked at her.  


A thirteen year old, his new captor. All too eager to join Neil  in his  crusade.

He wouldn’t apologize to  _ her. _

He pushed his sunglasses up on his head.

_ Billy—_ a warning.

_ I’m not going to do anything Maxine, shut the fuck up. Remember? ‘Cause I do. _

You’ve got the power over me, he thinks. Always have, since Neil chose _her._ Matter of time before she used it to her advantage.

  
Her mouth a flat line. Ugly, sour. ~~He made it that way.~~

She’s scrambling out after him. Her short legs moving quickly to keep pace with his.

The  four  kids all turn around near the entrance where they’re waiting for Max. The curly headed one with weird teeth has a mouth that almost looks comical—its formed in a perfect ‘o’. Lucas crosses his arms over his chest. Shoots daggers.  They all form a line. And Billy isn’t intimidated, but he’s also  drawing in on himself. Gritting his teeth. 

_ you were wrong for what you did.  
  
_

He clears his throat. Stands tall, like a man.

_ I want to tell you something. _

Meets four stubborn pairs of eyes. Can imagine them killing monsters, now.

Max is gaping like a fish, hand fallen by her side from where she had been reaching for Billy, ready to pull him away,

_ Max isn’t making me do this, by the way—but.  I’m sorry. For scaring you. It won’t happen again.  My issue was  between us, and—it wasn’t your fault.  _

Jesus, they looked so unimpressed, unfazed. He really, really, hated this. Goddamn Steve Harrington and his stupid earnestness.  His damn  _ morals. _

_ Sinclair.  _

_Sorry._ _I mean it_. And he realizes, as the words leave his mouth, that he does.

Blue eyes meet brown.

A nod.  _ Okay, whatever. But, never come near me again. Like, ever. _

The kids all turn, a little shellshocked, to go into the arcade.

But Billy is only capable of  magnanimity in small doses, at best. So Billy, being Billy, can’t resist the last word. 

_ It could have been avoided, _ he starts, and  they’re turned around again.  Watching him like he’s a tiger penned in a zoo, harmless;  even pitiable in his cage,  so long as one stays out of reach of his claws. And he  can’t stand it.

A small,  self-satisfied smirk, and then, a gamble.

_ If you guys had told me you were trying to fight monsters, I might have  beat them up instead. _

And then he’s running to his car,  turning the key,  laughter on his lips,  zooming out of the parking lot, watching five dweebs self-destruct  into yells and shock  in his rearview mirror. His flaming arrow had landed. 

It feels good. 

Billy’s learned to take wins in any form he can. 

Because  soon enough,  as sure as the sun rising in the morning,  the  losses will come. And they will hurt.

\----

Billy needed to be far away.

It’s the way he always feels, after Neil has peeled him raw  and poked at his soft bits. Rearranged him to his liking. In Cali, he had the ocean. He could sit next to it, with a bottle of Jack,  and remember his mother. How she had loved him, once. Had loved him enough to  stand in the blistering heat and cheer, even though he didn’t do anything remarkable. Next to the ocean, he was so far  removed  from Neil that they might have been on separate planets, if only for a few hours.

In Hawkins he can only drive.  And he gets restless from it, like he can just keep going, and never return. But he can’t leave. He has no money, no assets, no family. 

But now. He has a small, loose tether. Something pulling him,  keeping him tied to earth.

It’s a small, loose tether.  
But it grounds him all the same.

The Harrington home is massive. The first time Billy pulled up to it, looked up at the shiny windows and heavy door, it felt like the house itself was frowning at him. Like it smelled the wrong side of town on him. 

After that, he went in through the back.

Steve never made him leave. Sometimes he’d go to another room for a bit, but seemed content to let Billy stay  as long as he was quiet, and didn’t ask to swim.

His parents are never home.

Usually Billy brought beer, or pot, to make it so that it felt fair. Like he wasn’t just crashing into Steve’s world against his will and using hi m up. Small gifts.

Today he goes around back, and he’s empty handed. No pretense, even as flimsy as they were.  Just an ugly desperation, because  Neil had taken his keys and Billy had walked through the woods. He’d shivered, thinking about what could be hiding in them.  But Steve had said they were all dead, and Steve hadn’t lied to him yet. 

The anger that usually accompanied his run-ins with Neil is long gone now, chased away by the  icy wind and black bottlebrush trees.

He opens the back door and enters. 

_He’s here, _ says a  small, sure voice.

_What?_ Scrambling comes from the kitchen.

And Steve’s rounding the corner, meeting Billy in the living room, hair flopping across his head, fear etching his face.

_ Billy? Oh shit, man right now’s not a good time, I— _

And a little girl is peeping out behind him. She must be around Max’s age, but something about her seems much younger.  Her hair is messy, curling and thick, and she looks like some sort of odd owl. 

Billy’s staring at her, confused.

_ You can’t be here,  _ Steve is saying, trying to usher him towards the back door, while hiding the girl behind his back. Protecting her.

 _ Dude, why is it I always find you with random little kids,  _ Billy’s saying,

And Steve’s huffing, hand on his hip saying  _ GROSS, I’m babysitting, Hopper had a case, and,_

 _The Chief has a kid? _ Billy says 

And  Steve is gulping like a fish, looking at him,  stricken,

Billy feels irritation ripple through him. He can be trusted with, like, top secret government secrets, but not a kid? What the fuck?  Irrationally, he feels betrayed, by Steve and Hopper, both. Which is dumb, because neither of them owe him anything, and he’s barely even spoke to Hopper besides _The Aftermath of T_ _hat Night. _

Plus, he had really wanted to help break into Mr. Harrington’s liquor cabinet and drink himself stupid, and obviously that plan is bust.

_ He can stay._ The kid says, in a clear, steady voice.

Billy looks at her again, wants to ask sarcastically if it’s really up to her, and feels strange. She’s looking at him, hardly blinking, and he wants to shiver, feels like she’s X-raying him, like she _knows_ him. Which is impossible, and he feels childish for thinking it, but still—

She’s still staring at him.

  
When Steve looks back at her, Billy sticks his tongue out at her,  figuring this was a tried and true method of asserting dominance with small children.

Steve falters, looking between the pair of them, and then sighs.

_ Okay, but you have to tell  Hopper it was your idea. _

_ Trust him. _ She says simply, with a shrug. 

And Billy perks up at that, confused but surprisingly pleased that whatever judgment this  girl has passed has been in his favor.

Gives Steve a smug look.

  
—— 

Steve is in another room, on the phone, and Billy can’t  tell who it’s with because he closes the door. Billy sits at the table with the girl. 

She smiles.

She’s eating waffles. Which is kind of weird at ten o’clock at night, but Billy is now _starving,_ so they also look a little bit appealing.

She spears one, and hands it to him, fork and all.

_ Eat. _ She says, matter of factly.

He shakes his head,  looks at her strangely, 

_ What’s your name, kid _

_ El. Short for Eleven.   
_ _  
_ He snorts _ Like the number? _ _  
_

_  
Why are you here, Billy_? She asks, calmly.

And he’s thrown off by her nonchalance, the familiar way she uses his name, and the strange,  punctuated way she speaks, as if cutting straight through the air around her.

_ I should go, I  don’t think your old man wants me around you, and I don’t really feel like having a run in with the law— _

Billy doesn’t really _do_ children.

_ Not you. Anyone. Besides Mike, Steve, Dustin,  Will, Jonathan, Nancy, Joyce, Lucas, or Max. Safe people. _ She rounds off, counting on her fingers.

And Billy’s seriously weirded out. What the fuck—

_ Because I had a bad papa, too_ _._ She says, looking him in the eyes, willin g him to see her.

Billy’s sure he looks insane right now, but his mouth has dropped open, and she’s reaching over, feather-light fingers on his  arm, turning it over, and looking at the thumbprint-shaped bruises hidden underneath. He doesn’t react, at first, just lets her fingers flit over the purpled skin,  like a strange bird. 

He’s breathing heavily, and she’s still making eye contact,  and she’s smiling, but it’s so sad, so haunting, containing multitudes, and she can’t be more than twelve, and twelve year olds shouldn’t know how to smile like that, it isn’t right.

 _ It’s okay, _ she says. Soft. Sweet. She’s a little bird girl, chirping,

And it’s so fucking embarrassing, but his eyes are welling up, 

because she’s so small, so odd, and so fragile, but she’s holding his sore wrist, petting it, and she’s looking straight  into him,  like he’s a  _normal person,_ like he’s capable of touching something without setting it on fire.

Of course  that’s when Steve comes back, from  whatever phone call he’s just made, and is about to speak to them, 

sees Billy swiping at his eyes, Eleven’s hand on his arm, 

Billy stands up, turns away, starts moving towards the door. Has to get out, because  the room is suddenly both too small and too big, and his breathing is too quick, and too slow all at once, and he feels like he’s turned inside out, all of his organs suddenly outside of his body, 

He’s halfway down the driveway before Steve catches him.

_ Billy. Hey. _

_ Come back. Please. _

He doesn’t have anywhere else to go.  The house on Cherry Lane feels so impossibly far away.  


He goes back. 

\----

_Can you throw **him** **?** _

Billy’s pointing at  Steve, and  Eleven’s laughing,  and Steve is pretending to be cross, and saying  _ Stop it, No! We don’t levitate babysitters, El, _

But he finds it hard not to smile, as two impish grins find him, from twodifferent people. 

\----

It’s midnight, and  Hopper isn’t _cross._ He lets Billy know, on no uncertain terms, what will happen if he hurts her, or betrays her, but seems powerless in the face of his daughter’s clear _approval_ of Billy Hargrove.   
  
His hands are on his face, rubbing up and down like he’s tired of it all. He already spent all week convincing the other children that it wasn’t the end of the world that Billy knew,  that he had been threatened _properly_ about what could happen if he feels like talking. That he’s known for weeks, and nothing had come of it.  They’d acted like crazy people, hissing and yelling,  swearing bloody murder,  until Joyce had told them that  _there hadn’t been much of a choice, after someone had decided to store a DEAD MONSTER in her fridge,_

_ If she chose to tell you, I can’t stop her. Her story belongs to her. _

_ But you better live up to what she clearly thinks you are, Hargrove. _

It’s the second time, in less than a month, that someone seems to believe he’s worth anything.

It gives Billy a high somewhere below his ribs, a little bubble that if he didn’t know any better, he would swear almost feels like  something happy.

\----

  
earlier, 

El had fixed him with what he’s come to assume is her patented _look,_ and told Billy, while Steve was in the bathroom, as matter of fact as if saying the sky was blue,

_ I killed before. I can kill  **him** ,_

her eyes narrowed, and it startled him, how much older she looked in that moment, very much like a  secret government  weapon, and not like a little girl who eats waffles.

He realizes she means _Neil_ when he sees her grimace at his wrist. 

_ No kid. It’s okay, I only have a year left_ _,_ he’s telling her. Because she’s been used enough. 

But. It’s t he nicest thing anyone has said to him,

In a long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve been enjoying writing all of this! where I live is in strict lockdown, but unfortunately all of my assignments have caught up to me and I’ll have to do those. I will add more once I’ve caught up, essays are so much less fun. I really appreciate any of you who are encouraging me, I’m editing it myself and this is the first time I’ve written anything non school related since I was very young. You guys are so great and encouraging. I swear this is going to focus on Steve and Billy’s relationship I just felt like other stuff had to happen first....thanks for giving a WIP a chance! Also props to Billy for discovering top secrets so easily, cheers to plot devices that have to happen x


	6. Chapter 6

**The Song Remains the Same**

  
It’s  the middle of  January.  They’re sitting next to Harrington’s pool.  They never swim in it, even though it’s heated.

Steve likes to drink while staring into it. As if  one day it will  decide to  give Barb back, like Jonah emerging from the belly of the whale. She’ll climb out, perfectly healthy,  whole and living. 

Billy understands.

To a point.

But eventually Steve’s eyes look so far away, so wet, and Billy has to say that he’s cold. Which he is, but he could stand it. He can stand a lot of things, he finds, when he’s sitting next to Steve. When he’s watching his Adam’s apple as he swallows whiskey, a few loose drops running in rivulets down his chin, Billy greedily committing every stolen image to memory.

But. Steve won’t go inside until Billy says that he’s cold. 

And then it’s like a switch is flipped, he’s  rambling about Billy’s lack of proper clothing, and saying  _ why didn’t you say so ! hurry up and come in, man, we can turn the heat up high. _ And he’s offering his hand, helping Billy up, where they’ll walk into the massive living room, and Steve will hand him a thick blanket, and Billy will  roll his eyes and  pretend it’s exactly what he needed. 

And  Steve will smile, and it will break Billy’s shrunken heart into a million pieces. Because he knows why Steve stares into the pool. And he knows  what he  will never find inside, knows what it feels like to wait everyday for someone who will never reappear.

Steve didn’t talk about Barb, much, not since the day at the quarry when he first explained everything. But once, after a bad night, when Steve had drunk so much that he either couldn’t remember Billy was his only confidant for miles, or just didn’t care, and he had told Billy what Nancy had said to him. About eating chicken with a dead girls’ parents and knowing that there was nothing he could say that would mean _anything._ How he was so selfish, so guilty. So _stupid_ _._

_ It should have been  me, _ he had muttered.

Billy had almost considered saying something corny, like 

_ I’m glad it wasn’t, _

But he had looked over, and Steve was passed out.

So Billy carried him inside. Set him on the sofa.  Slipped out the  door and headed home. 

\-----

It snows in Hawkins a lot that month. Billy’s never experienced snow until he moved to Indiana. He hates it. Hates the way his tires skid, his windshield freezes over.  The way even he  must admit defeat, and  button his shirts. Wear his (too small) winter coat, that ruins his entire  _ image_ _._ There’s no way to look  badass in a stupid, soggy gray  bubble, and looking badass is, in his opinion, one of his better qualities.

In school the slush migrates inside as well, in the way things always seem to do, with idiots pushing it down  their friend’s shirts,  hitting each other in the parking lot with snowballs.

Billy feels like that would  probably end with  manslaughter, if someone  felt dumb enough to  toss one his way. 

Even  Tommy doesn’t test it, he’s desperate to be in favor, getting louder and louder with his incessant  jokes tossed Billy’s way, rolling his eyes when Billy ditches him and Carol to go  sit with Steve at lunch.

 _ So you beat his ass, and now he’s your best friend? _ Tommy scoffs

_ What, he offered to suck your dick or something? Wouldn’t surprise me, with how queer he’s gotten lately,_

if only, Billy wants to say, but knows even he couldn’t play _that_ off as a joke,

So Billy’s  pushing Tommy away from him,  elbowing him aside, saying  _Don’t be jealous Tommy, maybe I just can’t stand how you sound like a little bitch,_ trying not to clock the guy. He might’ve, but Tommy has all the party connections in town. Billy can tolerate  a lot, for that.

He finds Steve outside, leaning against the Beemer. Dragging his foot through the  gross snow slurry. 

He smiles wryly at Billy. 

Billy wonders when he became the guy Steve Harrington smiles at. 

Thinks however it happened, it’s a guy worth being.

_ Just failed another test, Hargrove.  Dunno if I can be bothered to go back in. _

The bell rings.

Steve opens the car door, starts to say,

_ See  ya later, _

Billy doesn’t think before he acts. That’s a pattern, at this point. He just grabs the passenger door, swings himself inside. He tells himself it’s because he can’t stand going back to class and pretending he doesn’t want to run Tommy’s fucking head through a wall. 

Steve meets his eyes. Quirks up his lip.

_ Well, where we goin, Princess? _ Billy says,

Doesn’tthink about how he has to be back to pick up Max in a few hours. Tries not to think about the way Steve’s hand sits on the gear stick, heavy and sure. His fingers are long and slender. Nails bitten off.

 _Ever played mini golf?_ Steve says, eyes wide and innocent,

 _What the fuc k_ is Billy’s eloquent response.

\----

Billy hates mini golf. 

Hates how every time he whacks the stupid  fucking ball it goes flying, way too far, into the stupid fake rivers and the  tacky statues surrounding the green.  Mini golf is the dumbest thing he’s done in Indiana, ever, and that’s saying a lot because the state has fuck-all.

There’s no one else there,  besides the  middle-aged woman with droopy lips who takes their money and hands them the little balls and putters.  And fat flakes are falling again, landing in Billy’s hair, probably making him look like a drowned rat, as if he didn’t look like  enough of a  goddamn loser  playing a children’s game in the middle of  a cold  Midwestern winters day. 

But Steve.

He’s laughing, first quietly,  trying to contain it,  and then in great big gusts, as if  all of the air is leaving his body at once. At every time Billy swings and  misses, or hits the ball so far away he has to go and irritably ask the braindead woman at the entrance for another.  Every time Billy lets out another string of curses, face getting redder, as he tries to make the  fucking ball go in the impossibly fucking tiny hole. He’s good at sports. This should be  _ easy. _

Then Billy’s had it and he’s kicking the windmill he can’t hit it through, and he  throws his putter as far as he can, and the woman is moving towards him, a lot faster than he would have guessed was possible, a loud  _ HEY  _ coming from her saggy  mouth, and Steve’s grabbing his arm, pulling him,  saying  _ Run_ _,_ body heaving with laughter,  and they’re running into the parking lot, collapsing into the Beemer,  like kids,

And Billy’s laughing too, against his will.  In spite of it all.

They pull into a diner parking lot, and Steve orders a pair of cokes. Billy feels loose, free, like all the tension has left his body, and every time Steve looks at him, he’s meeting Billy’s eyes with a shit-eating grin.

Steve tosses down money for the drinks before Billy can say anything,  and they’re out in the parking lot, and Steve’s walking behind him, and Billy turns around to ask if he can drop him at the high school, cause Max will be getting out of her nerdy AV club soon, 

And a handful of hard, wet slush smacks him right in the face. 

Its so cold. Freezing.  Sliding down his nose, turning him into a statue.  And he’s in shock, watching Steve  lose his battle to laughter yet again.

Then he’s scooping the horrible, icy shit into his hands and throwing it back, and they’re going back and forth, like they’re eight years old, slipping and sliding, and Billy’s face is frozen, dirty snow dripping down his body.

\---

When they pull back into the  high school  parking lot, Steve’s still smiling. He looks over at Billy, and there’s snow on his stupid long lashes, and his lips are red, his cheeks flushed. He’s happy. 

And Billy did that.

He’s trying not to let  pride overtake him, warmth spill across his skin. 

But  goddamn. He hates mini-golf, and he hates  the  snow,  but he does not, cannot, 

Hat e Steve Harrington.

\---

As expected, his  mood doesn’t last. 

Because Max is stomping over,  ruining his upholstery with wet shoes, dripping on his seats. 

_ You’re late, _

She  says.  It  mirrors, eerily, what he’s said to her so many times before.

He looks at her, glowers. A warning. says nothing. 

_What were you doing with Steve_ , her eyes focused on the BMW as they leave the lot,

She asks him like it’s any of her goddamn business what he does. Eyebrows raised, sour faced. Probably what she looked like when she told Neil his secrets.

The road is slick and empty in front of them.

_ I can’t believe he would have anything to do with you_, she says, under her breath. And, damn, she’s rapidly developing a talent for hitting him where it hurts, because deep down, he wonders the same thing.

_ You better not hurt him, he’s a nice guy.  _ The “and you’re not” is implied, 

he’s getting full-on  angry now,  she’s such a  fucking bitch, getting in his head,

_Shut up, Maxine_ ,  his voice growing loud, _ SHUT UP _

_ Make me,  _

_ like you always do. _ She’s returning the volley, matching him in pitch,

And he’s slamming on the brakes,  and god, that perverse part of him, that sick, cruel thing inside of his chest wants to shake her,  put his face in hers, teach her not to poke the beast,

Instead, he roars. _I SAID_ , _Shut. the. fuck. up. _shuts his eyes,

slams the steering wheel. Pounds it with both hands. They used to be _allies_ _,_ co-conspirators, once upon a time.

_ What are you gonna do, TELL NEIL? TELL HIM IT WAS MY FAULT, THAT I WAS GODDAMN LATE? HOW EVERYTHING IS MY FAULT? _

_ Like  ** YOU ** ALWAYS DO, MAXINE, _ spittle is flying out of his mouth, and he’s trying to breathe,

And she’s crying now, because he’s a monster, because he always lashes out, always, like clockwork,  like a rabid creature begging to be put out of it’s misery,

_ Maybe you deserve it, _and oh, she’s squeezing him now,  ripping away at his flesh,  applying  pressure  from all sides,  yelling back in his face,

_ Because you’re JUST LIKE HIM! _

And it cracks  Billy in half,  he’s  leaking everywhere,  feels like where a heart should be, he just has  black  sewage,

_ You’re just like  ** him, ** _

It pounds in his ears.  Tears at his eyes. Punches him in the stomach. Wrings his neck.

The car is stopped, and it feels like the world around them has stopped turning. They’re both breathing, ragged, lungs torn in half,

And then, in a voice Billy doesn’t recognize, but it’s his, it’s his, he can feel  it, feel  the thrum of it in his throat,  and to his horror  it’s choked up,  half of a sob,

_ You think I don’t know that? _

There’s a spear in his side,  and a knife in his gut,  and he’s an animal caught in a trap,

and Max is just a little girl. She’s just a small half-person, and she’s crying so hard now that she’s hiccupping, ribbons of snot in her nostrils, a bubble of saliva on her lip.

\----

Outside, the snow  has stopped falling.

Inside the car, a boy and a girl are  sitting. Not looking at the other. Marinating in their own  pain,  drowning in  waves of  hurt.  Both unwilling  to reach out for the other,  who, right now, feels as  distant as the  salt-soaked  shores of California. 

\----

He drops Maxine at the door.  She runs inside, and h e knows there will be hell to pay, but he’s seventeen, and he’s Billy Hargrove, and there’s _always_ hell to pay.  right  now he can’t take it, thinks he would rather die than enter the house on Cherry Lane, where Neil is waiting  because they’re an hour late,  and Susan probably cooked something shitty,  and Billy will see his future, laid out before him  like the beer bottles on the table, 

And he can’t take it.

He’s still got tears falling down his face, and he can’t even wipe them away, and he’s furious, but he’s also so cold, so empty, a monster boy without a soul,

So he drives.

Steve Harrington opens his door, and he’s saying _hey man_ , like he’s not upset to see Billy, like it’s perfectly fine for him to show up here and drip his poison all over, and there’s light, glorious light, spilling out behind him, and Billy is sobbing now, and then Steve is grabbing him, gingerly at first, and then there are hands patting his back, warming him from the inside out,

_ Shhhh_ _,_ he’s saying, arms wrapped around him, head resting against the side of Billy’s, and he smells fresh, and nice,  and _good_.

_ It’s okay,  Billy,  _

like everything will stop hurting, and Billy will wake up,  and it will be a new day,  and he won’t be this broken,  ugly shell any longer.

\----

Steve gets up and  decides he’s going to make breakfast. He’s decent with making food, it’s just not as nice when its only for him. 

Billy Hargrove is asleep in his bed.  Steve helped him up there last night, sat on the corner of the mattress, and  waited until he had fallen asleep,  until his breathing was  even and his eyes were shut. 

Steve didn’t know what to do. He could feel the pain rolling off the guy in waves,  could see the angry red of his eyes, filled with tears.  So he did what his mom had done, when he was young, and had  broken his arm wrestling Tommy. He was still half afraid Billy was going to slug  him, or get even angrier. But he’d basically collapsed in Steve’s arms, which was kind of heavy, he wasn’t really a small guy, but whatever. 

Steve slept on the couch. Thought about how whatever had happened, Billy had come to _him. _

He still didn’t know what to make of  it, now that sunlight was filtering through the windows.  So he does what he can. He gets out  ingredients, and starts making pancakes.

He’s rooting through the cabinets for the nice cutlery,  _for guests Stephen, not just whenever you feel like it, honestly, _ because  it kind of feels good, to use his parents things when he knows they would disapprove of the type of  _ guest _ Billy Hargrove is, would shudder at him using the  fancy forks, 

He turns around when he hears shuffling. And Billy looks _bad,_ his eyes swollen,  his curls wild and stuck to one side of his head, but he doesn’t look  dangerous. Just looks kind of small, almost pitiable. It makes something inside of Steve ache, because it feels wrong somehow, like he’s seeing something he shouldn’t,

 _Stop fucking looking at me _ _like that_ , and Billy’s eyes are narrowed, voice gruff. 

Steve never knows how to be there for people in times like this.  He didn’t know how to wade through Nancy’s grief, so he’d just pushed it aside, and he’s terrified of failing again, now that he feels he’s been handed something vulnerable, he doesn’t want to say something stupid, which is dumb because Billy’s not like, a timid little _fawn,_ and he snorts at the image—

Oops. Billy’s raising his eyebrows now , 

_ I could still end up punching you_,  he’s saying, but there’s no fire in his words, 

Steve smiles, lopsided.

_ And here I am, handing you your favorite weapon_, he  jokes, setting a plate down in front of him, and he feels sure again, because he knows this. Knows how to fire back,  how to stand tall and plant his feet when he speaks to a prickly Billy,

 _ Do you want pancakes? _ He’s asking, and it looks like a weight leaves Billy, like he’s so grateful Steve isn’t  prodding him for answers about last night, like he needs to pretend for a while,

 _ Never pegged you for a housewife, sweetheart _Billy  quips, like everything is normal, all  syrupy and over the top,

He slides three golden ones onto Billy’s plate before  he can  say he doesn’t want them.  


Isn’t positive, but feels like he’s _finally_ done something right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finished one paper so felt like I could let max yell at Billy like he deserves for a bit. Also ...did I mention it’s a slow burn don’t hate me


	7. Chapter 7

** Repo Man **

January bleeds into February. The air in Hawkins is still cold, but the days are longer. There’s a glimmer of sun behind the clouds.

Steve spends more time with the Party, their cheerful steadfastness like a salve, takes them to the arcade, to the movies. He babysits El again, so Hopper can go on a date with Joyce, and  even hangs out with Nancy and Jonathan without feeling like his heart is climbing out of his chest—

(the other day at lunch, Nancy had given Jonathan this look,  like  he’d said something particularly clever. And it had hit  Steve, how she never looked at him like that, even back in their heyday.

It shocked him, how  it had barely even hurt. How he felt happy for them. How he wanted that, too. To be looked at like he’s the only person in the room—)

But when Steve isn’t doing those things, more often than not, he finds himself spending time with Billy Hargrove.  It’s become their new normal, for them to play basketball together in the gym, when everyone has left the school, while they wait for AV club to let out,  or drink in Steve’s kitchen and shoot the  shit, and once, Billy had even  plunked himself next to Steve at the Hawk while he had been watching some stupid sci-fi film  the kids had dragged him to. 

  
He’d taken a handful of Dustin’s popcorn, glared at his _“Hey!”_ and sent Steve a wink, as Max settled as far down the row as possible.

Steve felt himself smiling back, ignoring Dustin’s grumbling about “ _proper movie etiquette, he’s ruining the atmosphere, dude_ , ” 

Somehow  Billy had snuck  in and settled into the bleak, empty loneliness  that lived inside of Steve. 

Made himself comfortable, carved out a space,

as easily as he flung himself on the big couch in the Harrington’s living room. As easily as if there had never been anything rough, jagged, and spiky between them at all.

\----

Steve even finds that he  looks forward to the nights they  hang out.  It’s  comfortable, having a friend to commiserate with, and it doesn’t even surprise him now, to realize that’s what they’ve become.

When  Billy swaggers into his house, taking up too much space and making too much noise, Steve doesn’t worry as much about the woods outside. He doesn’t catch himself tracking every movement. 

It’s almost _nice._

Lately, they  just retire to  Steve’s basement, where  Billy rummages through all of his  parents old records, making disparaging remarks or lifting his eyebrows at others. He’ll finally choose one that he deems _acceptable,_ and  Steve will pull out rolling papers.

Sometimes they’re quiet, but sometimes, like tonight, Steve is chatty. Feels loose, calm. Besides, Billy always seems more indulgent, a little more patient, when he’s had a few hits, and Steve finds that he likes listening to people speak while he’s high out of his mind. Likes hearing Billy’s rough voice cut through the haze of the basement, loud enough to be heard over the music. And Billy seems to find it easier to speak when he’s looking at the popcorn ceiling, both of them flopped across opposite leather couches.

_ What was California like_ , Steve asks

_ You’ve never been, rich boy? _

_ No. Never seen the ocean,  _ Steve says, ruefully,  _ Just lake  Michigan _

_Oh._

Silence.

_ It’s nice_ _._ Billy’s voice sounds almost reverent.

_ That’s it, _ Steve  teases, _nice is all you can tell me? Aren’t you like, acing English? _

_ I’m gonna go back. _ Billy sounds adamant, like he’s reassuring himself,

_ Next year, after I graduate.  Gonna  get away from this  fuckin hellhole, _

_ Oh yeah, _ Steve says, and he feels a little  hurt, even though he knows he has no right. Knows something wild like Billy can’t be penned in, isn’t made for the picket fences of Hawkins,  even with the crazy monsters and secret labs lurking behind the boring suburban surface.

 _ There’s blue water, as far as the eye can see, and the sand is like sugar, it sticks  all over you, annoying as shit, but you don’t really mind, because the air is fresh, and you’re happy to be there_ _,_ and  Billy’s whispering the last part, like he’s somewhere else entirely,

 _ But your Indiana ass would burn_ _,_ Billy says, laughing,  breathing out smoke as he passes  the blunt to where  Steve’s arm is, on the end of the couch,

_ You  could come  visit sometime. I’ll take you to the beach. You’d like it there, princess,  _

And Steve wants it, it hits him so hard, almost like a punch, how badly he wants. To stand there in the salty breeze, to look out and see water, as far as the eye can see, and see Billy smiling, finally home, not angry any longer,

_ Do you  surf? I bet you do, and I bet you’re, like, frustratingly good at it_ _,_ Steve can’t stop himself from talking , mouth moving faster than his brain,

He can’t see  Billy’s face, from where he’s laying on this couch, but Billy sounds like he’s grinning when he says,

 _ You bet your ass I can surf.  I’m so good I could even  fucking teach you,  I was teaching  Max for a minute, before, _ and he’s silent then, biting his sentence off at the end,

A beat  passes

_ You mean it_ _,_ Steve asks, turning his head, searching for Billy’s face,

_ Yeah, _ Billy says, and  he’s looking at Steve now,  propped up, Steve can see his eyes looking at him,  blue and stormy, and he’s frowning slightly, licking his lips and saying

_yeah I mean it, pretty boy, _

Steve rolls his eyes, Billy’s always so _much._ Always flirting, joking around,  


And Steve’s pulse is quickening, and it must be quality shit Jonathan gave him, because he feels so  strange and buoyant, like he could  rise up to the ceiling and float along it like a balloon, 

Billy pipes up again a few minutes later , pushing through the easy silence,

_ You’ll be  fucking terrible though ,  _ Billy continues, a wicked gleam in his eye,

_ if  you surf like you play basketball _

_ Take that back man_ , Steve sits up, frowning, forcing his features to look cross,

_ I’ll have you know I was the best player in the district, _

_Til I got here. And being the best player of a group of shitheads like that ain’t_ _exactly worth bragging about_ , Billy sniggers,

Steve stands up quickly, crosses the space in two strides, and pushes Billy with both hands off his respective couch, who falls with a surprised thump, landing on the carpet with his mouth in a half-formed yell, and Steve takes off, racing up the stairs, stitch in his side from laughing as he bounds into the kitchen, where Billy catches up to him and grabs him around the waist, pulling him to the ground,

 _ Harrington you dirty cheat, _ Billy is  on top of him now, cat eyes sparkling, tongue poking out of his lips, and Steve’s arms are pinned to  the floor. Steve is flushed, heart beating fast from the exertion, 

Billy blinks, looks down, as if he’s just noticed their position, and let’s him go. Stands up, quickly, like he’s been burned.

and  Steve just looks at him. 

A beat skips, the record scratching downstairs. Steve wonders if Billy feels awkward because he’s thinking about  _that night_ _,_ the last time he pinned him down, and decides to help him out, soothe the strange energy sparking off between them, 

Says weakly, _man,_ _that shit was strong wasn’t it, _ and  Billy agrees quickly,

gets up,  yawns  really big.

_I’m tired,_ he says, _I think I_ ’ _ll get goin, _

_ Okay, yeah me too, _ Steve says, even though his heart is still going  a bit fast, and he feels blissed out and wired at the same time,

— _we_ _ll not go, cause I live here, but, you know,  _ he gestures vaguely upstairs, cursing the way his tongue seems to not be able to form words,  _ uh, bed! _

_ Wait—are you okay to drive? _ Steve asks,  sitting up, blinking,

But  Billy’s already got his keys,  and he’s  saluting two fingers, shooting a tight smile Steve’s way, and walking out, 

leaving  Steve to  dust himself off and shake his head, trying to clear his  fuzzy  mind.

\---

Billy lays on his bed.

He’s staring at the ceiling, and it’s early, that time of blissful quiet when Neil still expects sleep to blanket the house, and the sun hasn’t yet risen, and he can think without fear of repercussion, without caution.

Thinks about last night, how he’d snuck in just a few hours ago, tried to will his mind away from where it had been. He wished he could have taken a cold shower, but  Neil would freak if he’d heard it, and  smelling like pot at 1am  in this house  was more trouble than it was worth.

It’s just.  Steve had looked so fucking beautiful,  laid out on the floor. Wrists pinned under Billy’s.  


Such treachery, that moment. Giving Billy’s mind an image he didn’t deserve to have. An image that would never be real. His cheeks pink, mouth open, glazed expression in his eyes.

Billy’s stomach had lurched, and he suddenly had to have space, had to get away, before he did something he would regret.  Steve had even mentioned how high he was, how out of it, probably hadn’t noticed Billy being weird—

But  Billy stewed under the covers. His skin felt too tight,  and he couldn’t go to the  fucking shower, and he couldn’t get the picture of Steve on the floor out of his head, but he also couldn’t get his  voice out, soft and vulnerable, asking if  Billy _meant it._ Head flopped back on his pillow, staring into nowhere, with his t shirt riding up, exposing the soft white  plane of his lower torso, fingers warm when he handed over the blunt,

Billy felt sick at the memory. 

He’s _wanted,_ before.  But he’s never wanted something so much, never been  so afraid of making a wrong move, of turning someone against him.

Billy is smart. He knows he needs this friendship, this rare spot of goodness in a dirty rotten life, 

needs Steve Harrington, in any capacity,  in any way he can have him, 

and it  terrifies the  shit out of him, how his foolish heart is still dipping and soaring, despite the unavoidable consequences that always seem to follow.

\----

Billy’d been thirteen, and his  friend Michael had kissed him. In the locker room, after practice.  It felt so good, felt like something he didn’t know existed, and Michael had stuck his hands in Billy’s shorts and  brought him almost to tears, and  Billy felt like he was alive, like every hair on his head was standing up, like this is what he’d been missing, all along, when he’d watched the boys in his class go crazy over the girls and couldn’t understand it,

But. In the back of his brain, the place fine-tuned for danger, alarm bells were ringing. 

When he came home, Neil had been angry. And drunk. Yelling about how he’d gotten fired from his most recent job, and his f - ggot boss could suck his dick, because what kind of man  did he think Neil was, Neil could get his friends to come teach him a lesson,  Neil didn’t bow down to anyone, 

It never occurred to Billy to say anything when Neil went on his drunken rants. Because his dad was right, and everyone else was wrong, and if he didn’t agree he would pay the price. Billy was thirteen, and Neil was scary, and that was how the world worked.

And  Billy had nodded in all the right places. And when they ate dinner, Neil had said,  _I’m glad I’m raising you right, son, this world has too many fuck-ups, too many people gone soft, and that’s not the kind of men we are, are we?_

_ No sir. _ Billy met his eye when he said it. Squared his jaw.

Told himself what kind of man he would be. What kind of man he had to be.

the next day,  Billy told everyone in school that Michael had tried to kiss him.  Threatened him, later, in front of the team, for good measure.

A nd he never talked to Michael again.

\---

Someone knocks on his door, jerking him out of his memories. Weak, watery sunlight is starting to come through his window. 

He knows it’s time for the mandatory Hargrove-Mayfield family breakfast. A beautiful weekend tradition. The shit that holds Americana together.

At the table he sits across from Susan. She keeps her nervous smile pasted on. Stupid, cow-eyed prisoner. Her small, brittle wrists shake as she spoons out eggs. His dad eyes him. Max stares at her cereal. 

Billy butters his toast and eats quietly, he  learned long ago that he  does best at these things if he only speaks when spoken to.  It’s better if he’s seen and not heard. The better the chance of getting out unscathed.

His dad clears his throat, and  Billy fights the urge to grit his teeth, everything Neil does sets him on edge, 

_ What are your plans this Saturday, kids? _

His tone is so even. Billy always marvels at that, at the way he sounds like  some robot pretending to be a person,

Max looks up, eyes narrowed a little as she flicks between Billy and Neil. 

_Well, I think some of my friends have plans later,_ she starts, then draws herself up, speaks clearly, and this is what Billy has always hated and admired, her brashness in the way she answers Neil, the way each word pours from her mouth, without even an ounce of calculation, without even a moment’s thought,

 _ It’s Steve’s birthday, and we’re  having a _ _ dinner at my friend  Will’s house_ _,_ _only a few people,_ she continues, Billy’s dumb brain perking up at the name, keeping the confusion from his features, because  why did Steve never mention—

 _ Steve? _ Neil asks, and  Billy wants to reach over and hit him. Wants to  stop him from uttering Steve’s name, from twisting it and spitting it out,  making it ugly, 

_He babysits us sometimes_ , Max continues, _you_ _ know,_

 _ Oh the Harrington boy. He’s got a nice family, I’ve heard,  _ and no, it’s all lies, because Billy’s never even seen  Steve’s parents and he’s been hanging around their mansion for a month or so. The way  Steve mentions his dad makes something sharp show in his face, and Billy knows the signs, Billy knows a thing or two about bad fathers and absent parents, and the way people see what they want, see what’s easiest—

 _ Do you need your brother to take you? _ Neil is offering for him, and Susan is silent, and isn’t that how it always  fucking is. But for once Billy doesn’t mind,  finds that he  wants to go,  is powerless against his desire  to see Steve, and maybe even Eleven, because they’re probably the only two people in this town that don’t make him want to die, the only two people who seem to think he’s worth something, 

_Yeah_. Max looks at him, now, addressing his existence for the first time since their most recent screaming match. _I need to be there at 5 to help set up. It’s a surprise party_ , _he didn’t really have any plans, so Jonathan invited him over_ , she says slowly, like she doesn’t want Billy to come. But Billy doesn’t care. He’s the brother of the year. Of course he’s taking her.

_ Well  Billy can do that, right? _

_ yes, sir._ Billy says. Billy can do that. Billy doesn’t really have a choice.

  
—— 

He’s getting dressed.

He tells himself last night was nothing, just stupidity when his senses weren’t at their sharpest, and besides he’s been schooling his emotions for years, knows how to keep his head straight, _literally,_

a nd now tonight, he gets to see Steve again, gets to laugh and crack mean jokes about Dustin, hopefully.  


He wonders why Steve  didn’t say anything about it being his birthday,  but decides he can pick up alcohol on the way, as a gift. He doesn’t celebrate his, either. Just figured a guy like Steve has enough people who love him to make him give a fuck. 

He wonders if he can convince  El to lock  Max outside.  She seemed to like his sense of humor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for sticking with me...I think next chapter should be some Good Stuff finally...idk I feel like I don’t have a plan, the story is just making me write it...


	8. Made of Dust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The idea of Billy being a secret nerd is everything to me idk

** Made of Dust **

It  had rocked Steve, walking through the door  and hearing people yell  _ Surprise !!_,  not because they were loud, although they were. Dustin in particular had almost burst his eardrums. But it was more that it was…for _him._ These people. Sure, they signed NDA’s and secret government contracts together. And almost dying alongside other people can excuse some sort of bond—but they didn’t have to _do…this._ They didn’t have to make his heart bloom, make warmth flow through his body, like he was full of green leafy things and new growth. Like he was someone worth celebrating, someone worth loving. Putting down roots. And not the creepy, monstrous kind. 

When he’d crossed the threshold of the Byer’s home,  he was counting on awkward friendliness from Jonathan, and a nice meal from Joyce. Better than staying home, in the familiar emptiness of his own house because his parents had decided not to come back _until_ _ the end of the month darling, I’ll be sure to deposit some birthday money in your account, and you can go out with Tommy and your friends._

Steve hasn’t been friends with Tommy and that lot in over a year,  but it isn’t new.  His parents not knowing.  They decided a long time ago who Steve was, had never bothered to consult him on if he  could  fit the mold. If he even wanted to.

He saw their  wide open faces,  Joyce and Hopper, the kids. Dustin flung himself at Steve with a _h_ _ey buddy, we got you good, didn’t we,_ Jonathan and Nancy offered tentative smiles from the corner. El was waving, holding a balloon in one set of fingers and Mike Wheeler’s pale hand in the other.  These people, who had been through so much. So much grief, and loss. Here for him, Steve _the hair_ Harrington.

He’s  still  detaching himself from Dustin when he sees Billy.  All tight jeans, messy curls, and shifty eyes. Emerging from the hall, wolfish and shifty. Awkward, but stepping forward with purpose.

 _ Happy Birthday Harrington_, he says. Hands him a handle of liquor, still in its  crinkly  brown paper.

The thing that was sprouting inside of Steve is budding now. Flowering beneath his ribs.

\----

The night is chaotic, and full of chatter, and warm food, and Steve finds himself relishing it. 

He hasn’t cared about his  own  birthday in ages. After all even when his parents had been home, t hey never did  anythin g exciting , just got him whatever present they could find on display downtown, and sat through a stiff, formal dinner where his mom drank too much wine, and his dad  ate without speaking, knife making cringing noises on the plate. The food was always something  overly  fancy, and a little dry—his mother labored for hours  beforehand , running around in a foul mood as she attempted to make it perfect , all part of the show. 

_ Wear your  new sweater Steve. The navy one, that I bought you in Chicago. Hand me that salad fork, quickly, don’t you have something you can go do while I finish?_

Steve  always  felt itchy throughout the whole debacle, on display. Like he was on one of those clear slides they put under a microscope in Biology. He was always  relieved when he could go to bed, and wake up  back in a normal day, where  the focus would  no longer be on him, and his parents could stop  walking on eggshells. Stop pretending they resembled a family.

But this—this felt like the cheesy, Sixteen Candles _b_ _irthday feeling_ _._ Like maybe, it was a  day to celebrate, after all. A day to be happy. To feel alive and new, still mostly whole after another year.

He opens some sort of weird figurine from Dustin, and readily accepts more hugs from Max and El. He gets a clap on the back from Hopper and he’s so _happy,_ but he also is a bit lightheaded, a bit too _full_ around the edges, so he heads to the backyard. It’s too much happiness for one person. Surely its illegal to have so much in just one body.   


So, he heads for fresh air. He heads for the person he knows has shrunken into the shadows.

\---

Billy’s leaning  against the wall, blowing rings of smoke into the abyss, the  crisp air swallowing them up almost as soon as they can leave his lips. 

Steve  smiles as he looks over, lets the door fall closed behind him with a resounding thwack, and goes to stand next to him.  He plucks the cigarette from Billy’s fingers, feeling brave. Takes a drag. 

Billy’s eyebrows go up, like he’s amused. Like Steve is a puzzle.

_ Thought you quit, princess _

_ Yeah, but…It happens to be my birthday. I  dunno if you heard. _

Billy snorts, and Steve lets the cool night breeze wash over him, lets his eyes run over the  outline of the  face in front of him.  He exhales, smoke curling out of his lips. Takes in the wispy mustache, barely visible in the dark. The heavy lashes. He can’t see Billy’s golden skin, but he knows its there. Doesn’t understand how the guy always seems to run hot, like the air in Hawkins can’t  touch him, like he isn’t susceptible to  silly  human  things like  _temperature._ It used to piss him off, the way Billy strutted around with so much skin out. 

Billy’s always _too much_ , always skating on some sort of invisible edge, and it hurts to look for too long. Steve looks upward. Stares at all the pinpricks of light shining down, looking close enough to touch. It’s _l_ _ike I could reach out and take one,_ he thinks absurdly.

_ Stargazing, Stevie _ _?_ Billy says, and Steve doesn’t look,  but he  already  knows his pointy tongue is poking out of his mouth, one eyebrow raised as he  looks for a reaction, feral in every inch,

_Yeah_ , Steve says, grinning, turning to face Billy, _better than looking at the woods. Or your sorry ass_. Shrugs . Unrepentant.

_ You know any of  em? the names?  _ Billy asks, quietly, and Steve senses a change—can’t see Billy’s face, but knows he isn’t making fun, now.

Billy always ebbs and flows, mood changing like  a  tide. Steve’s happy to just drift.

_No_ , Steve admits. _I don’t know any, was never good at science_ , _too busy flirting with Jenny Sanders_ , he says ruefully. _Why. Do you? _

And Steve is trying to joke around again, to make things between them easy,  but Billy’s voice is serious  when he says

_Yeah_. 

And then, 

_ I used to look  for them sometimes when I was back home. But it’s too bright in the city,  too much false light. You can’t see  much. I …like that I can see them here. _

Steve listens,  the  words smooth and true, and waits for him to continue. It’s weird, the way he can read Billy sometimes. Can  tell when he has more to say, if  only  he can be patient enough to  wait for it.

_ We used to go camping when I was little. The desert. It stretches for miles. My dad had a truck. He’d drink a lot when we got there, sleep in the front. But my mom and I would lay in the bed,  and she knew them all. She’d point them out to me. We would sleep  back there, share a quilt. _

Steve can picture it,  like he always can when Billy tells him about _then._ He likes how the images come easy for him when Billy speaks, how it feels nothing like the pressure of trying to force himself to picture scenes in the books they read in class.

the endless  stretch of land. The moon, a coin hanging in a black  sea . Little Billy, clinging to his mother.  Steve bets he had freckles.  Stars reflected in his eyes like kaleidoscopes. It must have been beautiful, to see the whole world laid out like that. Blanketed in  secrecy.

_They’re all in the past, you know_. He says suddenly, jerking Steve from his little reverie, and his voice is rougher, sawed off like a shotgun, and Steve kind of wants to reach out, steady him, but instead chooses to say _what,_ because he values his life.

_ The stars. _ _We see them as they were, thousands of years ago._

Billy grabs Steve’s arm without warning.  takes his pointer finger. He’s a tactile guy, Steve has noticed. He’s also noticed he doesn’t mind it. Appreciates the human contact. 

_That’s part of Orion’s Belt,_ he says gruffly , _do you see it?_

And Steve wants to look at Billy, to  let him know he  sees it all, sees _him,_ but he looks up instead, finger pointing at  the heavens, celestial bodies shining  on them both, 

_ Pretty .  _ He says, blinking stupidly.

_ Sometimes I feel like they’re burning my eyes_ _,_ Billy says

And Billy drops his arm. Meets his stare. Smiles in a lopsided way. Throws down his cigarette, and grinds it into dust with his boot. 

_ Make a wish on one for me, Birthday Boy,  _

And he’s gone, disappeared before Steve can reply,  as quickly as if made of smoke.

\----

Billy is used to bad days. 

He’s altered his schedule around  Neil’s for so long now, its second nature. His moods shape Billy’s moods, and sensing subtle changes in pressure are the best way to get out of  a hurricane’s path. 

He can sense one now, in the way Neil snaps his newspaper,  in the way his mustache twitches slightly. A tell, a crack  in his  shiny veneer. 

So Billy decides he should probably do the smart thing, and get the fuck  out. Stay the fuck away. 

\----

Max resolutely ignores him on the drive to school. Weeks have passed since the last blowup, but  there’s still a crackling atmosphere between them. Uneasiness, oozing  below the surface. 

It makes him feel tired. And shitty.  But he’s Billy Hargrove, so maybe that’s just part of his whole _existence_ at this point.  He tells himself, time and again, that he doesn’t give a fuck what Max thinks. And time and time again, he knows, deep down, that probably isn’t the truth. But he’s nothing, at this point, if not a damned good liar.

He comes home late. 

He knows everyone will be in bed, and he’s counting on quietly ducking into his room. He brought Max home  after AV club  and took off, booked it to the Harrington residence.  He and Steve had watched some stupid movie on the stupidly big television, and  then had eaten cheese sandwiches together in the kitchen.   


After, he’d taken their dishes and put them in the sink. Steve had eyed him suspiciously. 

_What,_ he snapped

_You have manners?_ Steve says, feigning shock.

Billy rolls his eyes. 

_Well, I wasn’t raised with a silver spoon down my throat, like some assholes around here,_ _Duh, I know how to wash dishes_ , he says, cutting off the unhelpful part of his brain that supplies an _or I’d get my ass beat_ , and splashes dishwater Steve’s way, who snorts and says 

_Real mature_ , and runs his hand through his well-coiffed hair.

_  
God he’s fucking beautiful_ , Billy’s thinking

_ I would ruin him _

Maybe he’s  not  as careful as normal,

because he was  thinking about the way he’d seen Steve snooze in the middle of the movie, after protesting that he wasn’t falling asleep, he was just _resting his eyes, DAMMIt,_ his socked foot pressing into Billy’s leg from where he’d spread out on the other side of the couch, drooling a little. Not realizing the electric shock he was causing to run up Billy’s thigh. Billy had thought about kicking him in the shin, but remembered the  deep-seated  circles under Steve’s eyes, and let him sleep.

Maybe he’s just unlucky, it doesn’t matter.

But either way, as he creeps across the living room after letting himself in silently, avoiding where the door catches, the light in the kitchen is on.  He tries to keep going, to propel himself into safety, but he catches Neil’s eyes .  Hard. Unyielding.   


It’s the time of reckoning.

_ Where have you been, son. _

The words are clipped. Like he’s waiting to sniff out a lie.

Billy always thinks he knows how to navigate the minefields, knows how to step carefully,  inflict minimal damage. But the problem is they always fucking change, always alter without warning. Explode in his face at the last second.

_I was with a friend_ , Billy settles on the truth, goes for nonchalant, because he knows Neil is like a heat-seeking missile,  able to spot a lie and rip it to shreds with precision,

_ A friend. Some whore? Because it’s 11:00 on a school night, and I’ve never known you to have many friends.  Does that seem very responsible to you? To miss family dinner, after Susan worked so hard to make it for you? _

And Billy’s breathing heavy. Knows theres no way out. No excuse that will allow him to evade the inevitable.

_ I dropped Max off, didn’t I? Why does it matter? _ Fuck, he’s so tired suddenly, he’s seventeen years old, and he’s so goddamn sick of this bullshit. Every time the same old routine, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

_I ’ll get up on time, you know I will, it’s not a big deal, Dad, I promise, _and he would be repulsed by the wheedling tone in his voice, but 

He’s bargaining now,  and time has run out,  and he knows it, knows  what’s coming before he  registers the pain of it,  and he should be good at taking hits by  this point, but it still throws him off, even now—

the pure _viciousness._ The speed at which the fury arrives, like a car crashing on the freeway, metal splintering in every direction —

when just seconds ago his dad was speaking evenly , and sitting at the table. Cracking his knuckles. Waiting for a prodigal son. 

_Is this what I looked like to Harrington_ , he thinks before it comes again, 

Pain blooms across his cheekbone, and he can tell it will swell.  The kicks are swift when he hits the cool kitchen tile, straight to his gut, and make him groan, spittle falling from his mouth as he tries to turn away, curl up and make himself smaller,

He doesn’t know how much time passes, but it feels miraculously short, like maybe Neil feels appeased by how easily Billy had fallen, or maybe he’s just tired of looking at his only son, laid out like trash before him, but he stretches his shoulders and steps over him. Done for now. Ready to leave, punishment properly meted out. He never liked to stick around for his handiwork. Didn’t like to admire the roadkill left behind.

_ I don’t know why you make me do this, son.  _ Shakes his head.

 _Now go to your room_. The words are thrown his way with precision, piercing him like daggers, as Neil walks out of the room and towards the hall. 

Billy doesn’t tempt fate. Not like this. When he gets in his bed h e screams into his pillow, his impotent rage expressed in the only way h e can.

He’s still yelling silently, but the fury is filtering out, leaving him deflated, when h e hears a knock on his door.

He tenses, even though he knows Neil wouldn’t knock, would just tear in, 

And Max sticks her head in. 

She looks like a  small wisp of a child in the darkness, hair sticking up at all angles, pajamas rumpled with sleep

_Billy_ , she says, like it could be anyone fucking else,

_Go to bed Maxine_ , he says.  _ Just g_ _o to fucking bed_ ,  muffled into his pillow. He can’t fight another battle yet. He can’t look into her eyes and see derision.  Not now.

He hears his door shut,  and the stupid child inside of him, the little boy that’s lived there locked away for years, wants to yell _come back._ But he won’t.

And  then in a minute,  it  reopens.

Someone’s touching his arm, and he rears up, ready to scramble, ready to cower, but it’s only Max. She holds out a washcloth, ice cubes wrapped inside. A few tearstains are fresh on her cheek.

He eyes her warily. She puts it in his hand, and he takes it. He’s not a fool.  It isn’t often you get given multiple chances,  not  when you’re someone like Billy.  He thinks of Steve. He’s been learning to take  what’s offered.

Wordlessly, he nods her way. His throat feels tight. 

He doesn’t say anything, the embarrassment  too  fresh, smarting like his wounds, and she’s gone as quickly as she came, with only the cloths  refreshing coolness to prove she was really there at all.

\----

The olive branch sits between them,  undiscussed. Heavy and dripping, until Billy reaches across her one day, and holds the car door shut before she can step out. 

She looks at him, questioning, 

And he grits his teeth, looks through the windshield where the weird kids she hangs out with are watching,  waiting,  and he’s weary of being the bad guy, dammit. 

_ I don’t know why you make me do this, son. _ his ears are ringing. 

_Thank you_ , he says, shortly . Honestly.

She holds his gaze for a few seconds. Imperceptibly, she offers a nod, answering his from the night before. Something passes on her face. There one minute, and gone the next, the sun shifting behind a cloud—

He lets go of the door, watches her leave.  Feels an easing in his chest, like some sort of weight was lifted, one he never knew was there,

As she crosses the parking lot, she looks back,  and he can’t read her expression,  can barely make out her face, before she’s  turning again, and  jogging towards the auditorium,  red hair burning like a brand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It feels like it’s been forever, but I was bogged down with writing essays..classes...and now planning a dissertation! But if you’re enjoying this work I promise that while I can’t commit to consistency, I definitely am not abandoning! The best way to procrastinate is to do this instead :’) also I’m sorry so much other shit keeps getting in the way before they’ve even kissed but like??? I felt like it had to happen before anything else so keep eyes open for the next chapter x hopefully it will be enjoyable.... as always any comments bring me joy.


End file.
